


When We All Fall Asleep [WIP]

by KindListener



Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare, Romeo+Juliet (1996)
Genre: Bastardizing Shakespeare, Bible Quotes, Fucking Up Shakespeare and the Bible in One Fell Swoop, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 13:47:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20009284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KindListener/pseuds/KindListener
Summary: Whatever has he done to the world? The roads have grown warm and the air thick. The kind of hot and humid weather that makes silly people do silly things. Whatever has he done to me?





	When We All Fall Asleep [WIP]

**Author's Note:**

> been writing since about 2am and it’s 6:18am now so eeeeeh sorry for any mistakes i’m tired
> 
> still need to format this

Whatever has he done to the world? The roads have grown warm and the air thick. The kind of hot and humid weather that makes silly people do silly things. A groan leaves me like a ghost passing through as I fan my face, my cheeks red with heat. If anything, I had not expected this kind of heat to crawl into my flesh and burrow into my loins, making them burn and ache. Whatever has he done to _me_?

I have prayed and prayed for my senses to return to me over the past twenty-four years. I have tried to repent. I have sacrificed so much but nothing has come of it. It has hounded me since my childhood days of climbing trees and scraping knees. Am I wrong? Could my heart have led me astray? It is eating me from the inside, devouring me. What could I have done to deserve this?

_For this reason, God gave them over to degrading passions; for their women exchanged the natural function for that which is unnatural, and in the same way also the men abandoned the natural function of the woman and burned in their desire toward one another, men with men committing indecent acts and receiving in their own persons the due penalty of their error._

The engine of the Cadillac hums in appreciation as I cut it loose, cruising down the empty highways of our fair Verona. I could pass out, I could faint but my sheer need for him gives me the motive to keep driving. The wind twists in my hair as I think; will he be waiting or will I take him by surprise? My blood boils. What will he do when I confess? Will he kiss me like I always imagined? Will he lead me to his bedroom and spend the day giving and taking from our endless pools of desire? Or will he slap me across the cheek and throw me to the dogs of the Capulet household to be consumed by shame? This heat. It makes me wonder. Makes me curious.

I brake when I reach the large, Capulet mansion. The doors stand feet above my head and it seems like forever that I stare at them. Eventually, I leave the car and meander to the front step, my shoulders shaking in fear as I raise my arm. Everything is under control (save for my sweating). I could still turn and leave. My arm drops at the thought and I half-turn, to go back to the car. He never has to know. I swallow my anxiety and turn back to the doors, raising my arm, again. I knock and the echoes seem to go on for hours as I wait, tapping my foot on the marble. I did not prepare to see the nurse poke her head through the door. She hurries me inside and asks my business.  
“I am only h're to seeth Tybalt, mine own mistress.” I explain, voice quivering as she strides to the foot of the stairs and calls for him. She, soon, leaves me to wait and wait in the hall. No going back, now.

“Ah! Raphael, mine own cousin. How art thee? I has't did miss thee.” I hear a sweet angel voice from the top of the staircase, from the balcony. The voice that only ever lightened for me. The voice that excited me even when I was but a child in his aunt’s orchard. The voice that made me joyous when we laughed and played. He descends the stairs and reaches for me in a strong embrace. He seems to notice my stiffness and withdraws, studying my face. I can drink in his form, once again. His strong, lithe frame encased within his tight vest, the cross around his neck hanging, freely, the soft curves of his lips as he speaks, his black gaze heavy on me. “What is wrong? I doth not see thee in months and then thee seem unwilling to look me in the eye?” My eyes fall as he drops his arms from my shoulders.

“Tybalt, I... I doth not know how to express mine own... Pardon me, cousin.” I try my best to look up and smile at him but, I can tell, he does not believe my façade.  
“Raphael. Prithee, pray pardon me. I cannot help thee if 't be true thee doth not help yourself by telling me.” He cups my shoulder and turns me back. It is on the very tip of my tongue as my heart heaves into my throat. “Bid me, prithee.” He echoes and I bite the inside of my cheek.  
“I love thee.” I blurt out and his eyes go wide. His eyes go dark and he grips my hand, his other raised before he slaps me across the face, hard.  
“Thee cannot love me, filthy wh're.” He growls out, beginning to drag me upstairs. I blink through the tears and try to tear myself away but his grip is too tight. “I has't to teach thee a lesson.”

“Nay, nay, nay! Tybalt, I am s'rry! I didst not cullionly—” I begin but he does not listen and pushes me into his room, locking the door behind him. I run next to his bedstand, holding up the first thing I find, the Bible by his bed. He leans down to grip my shoulders and I try to push him away, most unsuccessfully.  
“Raphael, shh. Shh, mine own cousin. I shall not did hurt thee furth'r.” He whispers, softly, as I drop the Bible. “Mine own family is most unpleas'd by those who is't enjoy romantic relations with their fellow men. I just did want to receive thee upstairs so we couldst talk, prop'rly. I am s'rry I slapp'd thee. Art thee good now?” My heavy breathing grows steady as he helps me up, from the floor, and onto the side of his bed.  
“Yes, I shall survive.” I reply and he wipes a stray tear from my face.

We used to play in his aunt’s orchard, climbing trees and picking fruit to feast on, in the late afternoon light. Only youth could bring such joy and innocent romance. He was beautiful, even then, when he would blush and kiss me under the branches of the orange tree or amidst the leaves of the blackcurrent bushes. He was chaste and sweet. When we grew up, however, we never spoke of it. He seemed ashamed. We still stuck together but his demeanour changed. Until now.

“I rememb'r, mine own lief cousin, at which hour we hath used to kiss in the 'rchard. I rememb'r how I car'd f'r thee so. At which hour thee hath left f'r months on end, I couldst not stand t. I only did regret not kissing thee, one last time, bef're thee hath left f'rev'r.” He whispers as he pulls close, my frame shivering from his closeness. He cradles me in his arms. “I love thee, too, mine own ladybird. The months thee hath left w're t'rture. I did hate myself as I bethought I hadst driven thee hence.” He draws back to look at me, eyes red from crying. He leans in to kiss me, his lips soft and still against my own, his hands feeling at my throat and chest as he kisses me. “Prithee, kiss me, ladybird.” He sighs against me and I can feel his breath on my face. I look up, into his eyes, and I see the fire behind them. My hand finds the back of his neck, nails digging into the flesh, hard enough to break the skin, and I watch something snap in him. He cocks a brow before he dives in, teeth bared.

_Do not be deceived: neither the sexually immoral, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor men who practice homosexuality, nor thieves, nor the greedy, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor swindlers will inherit the kingdom of God._

He leans in, again, this time more aggressive, fingers tangled in my hair as he licks his way into my mouth. His tongue is soft as velvet as it slides between my lips, my head keening up, eager for more of his affection, more of his attention. The heat only grows as he presses his body to mine, mounting me and removing his jacket so I can study the hilts of his rapiers as well as the swell of muscle at his biceps and the dips of his gun holster. He removes those, too, leaving the leather straps and pistols on the mattress, next to me. Next, he unzips his vest, revealing inch after inch of sweat-drenched, caramel skin. It is all showmanship as he whips the vest off his muscular shoulders, breathing heavy as his weight bottoms out on my pelvis. With his vest gone, I can see his crucifix dangling in front of my face as I trace the lines where his holster used to sit. Well-worn lines from the weight of the leather and the pistols. They frame his perfect body, littered with scars and freckles.

“Touch me, mine own ladybird. I want to feel thy palms on mine own chest, thy lips on mine own throat, thy nails on mine own spine.” He breathes as I grip his cross between my teeth, playfully. I sink into the depravity that Satan delivers and kiss the center of his chest. If this is against the Lord, how can I continue to worship him. Forgive me my sins, Father, as I am about to sin, horribly. My stomach sinks as his body bends to my touch. I sit up, claiming his lips, as he holds me close. “Prithee, Fath’r, yes, Raphael. _M're_. I need m're of thee, prithee.” He pushes me back down, on the mattress, unbuttoning and then parting the panels of my shirt to marvel at my chest. He rakes his sharp nails across my pectorals, chuckling when I gasp and buck my hips against him. Joseph and Mary, save me.

My pants grow too tight and the sweat is pumping like the blood. My hands find his belt, not even looking up to see if he is still prepared to go forward with this. The clank of his belt makes me shiver and I open his tight, leather pants, only to find him hot and throbbing and waiting for me. His chest is shiny slick and his hair askew as I pull his thick, throbbing cock from his pants.  
“Quite the sw'rd thee has't h're, yes, Tybalt?” I tease, breathily, as he groans, my own cock twitching against his backside, through our pants. “Thee has't grown since I lasteth did see thee liketh this.” His sharp teeth bury in my neck as he sighs, my palm curling around his beautiful cock, pumping it once, twice. His breath is hot against my ear. I feel a wetness against my abdomen and he is leaking against the heat of my palm, his slick chest against my own. He whispers sweet nothings against my ear. “Yes, ladybird. I wouldst sell mine own soul f'r this... I love thee. Yes, I doth... I has’t did want this since—” I silence him with my lips, my hips grinding against his backside. His tongue is desperate, now. He wanted this as much as I did.

_You shall not lie with a male as with a woman; it is an abomination._

When we part, he sits up, standing to kick off his boots and slide out of his tight, leather pants. I do the same, unbuttoning and sliding off my pants before shifting to the head of the bed, giving my own cock a good couple of pumps. He looks up, eyes hungry, drinking in the visage of me, sat amongst his pillows, groaning as I take in his scent and get lost in the thought of him.  
“Raphael...” He sighs, naked and speechless and motionless, as he watches me lose myself. Eventually, he crawls onto the bed, just watching me.

“Tybalt, mine own angel, turn 'round f'r me.” I groan out and he does, displaying his perfect backside. My hands find his back, pushing him into all fours, letting me get a better look at his backside.  
“Alas...” He groans as my hands find the cheeks of his behind, caressing them with my palms, pulling them apart to study the tight muscle within. “Prithee, doth not—” He starts but soon quiets down when he feels a warm, wet appendage against the muscle. My tongue dips against the muscle and his hands fist in the sheets, shaking. I slick my tongue against his entrance, tasting his skin. It’s only when I dip my tongue inside that he lifts his head and shivers, violently. “Raphael! I need thee...” He falls silent when I slide a slick digit into him up to the knuckle. His own knuckles are bone white as his fingers tighten in the sheets. Two more fingers and he is quite loose, loose enough to accommodate me, nicely.

_If a man lies with a male as with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination; they shall surely be put to death; their blood is upon them._

I shift further down the mattress and reach for the Vaseline on his bedside table, coating my fingers with it before coating my cock with it. When my cock is slick, I apply a small amount to Tybalt’s entrance, making him moan at the intrusion, again. He knows what he wants. So do I. He turns round and sighs, breathily, before he sinks onto my cock, groaning at the large intrusion.  
“So full...” He moans as I let him become familiar with the sensation. He starts to rock, back and forth, pre-come beading in perfect globes on the head of his cock. His insides are hot and syrupy soft. I lean down and capture his crucifix between my teeth and I believe he appreciates it, watching my lips curl around his wooden crucifix and watch him bouncing on my cock. Heaven help us. Sweat runs down his neck, down his chest, down his abdomen. “I shall not last, Raphael...” He states, breathlessly, as my fingers curl around his cock. It is not long before we, both, spend. He comes, first, breathless and panting into the crook of my neck as he spills over my hand. If this is wrong, may the Lord strike us down. I spend, spilling inside him, feeling him shudder at my filling him.

Once we have stilled, he collapses next to me, sweating and panting.  
“Alas, Raphael... Thee has't to wend 'r mine own family may begin to suspect.” He breathes as I move to kiss him, my body becoming slow with fatigue  
“Of course, Tybalt.” I murmur, getting up to pull his clothes back on. “At which hour shall I see thee, again?”  
“We art holding a party, in a few days. Shall thee cometh?” He asks, hurriedly, as I tug on my shirt. I take one last gaze at his naked body, filled with my come and eager for an encore.  
“Of course, ladybird.” I reply, kissing him, softly, before starting for the door.

_Have you not read that He who created them from the beginning made them male and female, and said, ‘For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh’? So they are no longer two, but one flesh..._

The party is loud and obnoxious and bright and insane. Dressed as Greek god Hermes, with wings and a short toga, I shuffle out of the car. I wander up, show my invitation and meander in, keeping an eye out for my Prince of Cats. I find him, soon enough, against the bar with a whiskey, straight up. He laughs as he takes another sip of his drink, turning to Abra and joking about something or other. When those black eyes fall on me, they clear and he downs the rest of his drink, approaching me with hungry, half-drunken eyes.  
“Come, Raphael.” His hand is on my shoulder as he turns me toward the stairs. “I has't did want to receiveth mine own hands on thy sw'rd since yond day.” His breath is hot in my ear, he stinks of alcohol and need.

_Sweet Mary, blesseth mine own soul upon the alt'r of thy divine love. Bite this by the ear fair Capulet and I findeth mine own heart yearning f'r his, mine own lips begging f'r his sweet kisseth. Amen._

We heave ourselves up the stairs and stumble to his room, where he presses me to the locked door when we get in. His kisses are sloppy and clumsy and wet. Lit only by candles, his room is drenched is dense orange and red light, making him appear more and more ferocious. His hands, instantly, begin to grope at my body, his scent making me dizzy. His sharp teeth nip at my bottom lip and I take a deep breath, drinking this in. His suit is pressed and straight, his fingers dancing against my collarbone.  
“Mine own sweet Capulet.” I sigh against his clammy throat, licking at the sweat that beads there. “Bid me what thee wanteth, sinn'r, and I shall grant t.” Tybalt, though shorter, seems to loom over me, eyes fiery and lusting. His hand tangles in my dark hair and he, furiously, bites my skin.  
“Mine own sinn’r.” He growls, pressing my throat to the door. “Bind thee up, make thee needeth, make thee breathless, bind thy lungs in knots until thee cannot breath without me. My heart doth wonder.”

He sheds his red waistcoat and shirt, drawing a knee between my slender legs, finding me ready and waiting.  
“Ah. The broadsw'rd is drawn, lief Raphael?” He teases and I bury my lips in the crook of his throat, biting at the pure colomn of flesh, hearing his ragged sigh. “Slend'r forks and fair visage, strong fing'rs and delicate throat. I wanteth to englut thy corse, englut thy beauty f'r mine own own lest thy natural beauty dull with the passage of time.” Purrs the Prince of Cats and I shudder in response. He releases my throat and leads me to the bed. “Undress.” The command is sharp and I find myself obeying before I can, truly, assess the situation. My wings, my robe, my sandals and I am, gloriously, bare for him. “Bed.”

_F'rgive me. I rest on mine own knees and hands, awaiting his cruel touch to mine own flesh. I doth this as a lovesick idiot, not only as a sex-starv'd youth. That gent knoweth our time is fleeting and we maketh the most of t. Prithee, f'rgive us in the eyes of our L’rd._

His fingertips touch the visible ridges of my spine and a breath leaves me as I arch into his touch. My darling Tybalt and his heavenly palms, curse you.  
“Thee has't been wanting me, Raphael, just as I has't been wanting thee. Mine own soul burns with passion at which hour our skin touches. Without the drug of thy touch, mine own corse with'rs in the sunlight.” He breathes against my ear, his fingertips trailing down over my behind, making me shudder. He places a chaste kiss to my backside, landing a playful swat to the tender skin.  
“Tybalt, mine own heart doest weepeth f'r thee just as mine own soul doest and I findeth myself thirsty f'r thy sweet touch. Prithee, cov'r mine own corse with thy saint’s palms and sinn'r’s lips.” He rounds the bed and claims my lips, softly.  
“Mine own raphael. Thee speaketh with the w'rds of a poet. Blesseth those of our men yond melteth our ang'r and dry sorrow into pure love.” He purrs, turning me to my back to study my lewd form.

_L'rd, heareth the prayeth'rs of thy damned; sinn'd and unclean but did love nonetheless. Gaze our flesh f'rm one, just as thee 'rd'r'd at the beginning of time. We loveth and maketh love in abandon. Two hearts become one as we beg thy salvation from our own depravity._

His lips curl, hot and heavenly, around the head of my cock and I cup his cheek.  
“Tybalt, mine own love. Mercy on mine own sinn’r’s flesh.” I groan out and he glances up at me, releasing my erection with a soft pop.  
“Forsooth. We art needed, back at the festivities, Raphael, unless thee wisheth to pray pardon me to Mistress Capulet wherefore we did disappear.” He teases and strips off his pants, giving himself a few rough pumps before he is ready.

He eases himself between my legs.  
“If 't be true thee turneth ov'r, this couldst beest easi'r, love.” He explains and I return to my hands and knees as he prepares me. A slicked, slender digit spreads my entrance open and I fist my hands in the sheets. He works it in and out and I wince at the pain. Then, another is added and another until he believes I will accommodate his impressive length and girth. “I am going to ent’r, now. Just relax.” He breathes, pressing the head against my entrance as his free hand strokes soothing circles down my back.

_Oh, Joseph, deliv'r us. I payeth f'r mine own pleasure in blood and drops of sorrow. I am filthy. I am disgusting. I und'rstand yond. Saveth me from myself. But, most of all, saveth mine own ladybird; Tybalt. He suff'rs, t'rribly, and t maketh mine own soul shrivel to see him so destroyed. I love him. I love him, t'rribly._

The bitter tang of blood as he presses onward, his slick organ sliding into my unsuspecting body. He eases it in as he, softly, strokes at my shoulder blades. The pain makes tears prick at the corners of my eyes.  
“Raphael?” Tybalt whispers as he inches in, slowly.  
“Yes, though I am afraid yond this is mine own first time.” I chuckle, humourlessly, through the pain.  
“Clotpole! I wouldst has't prepareth thee furth'r if 't be true I hadst known!” He snaps back, more worry than anger, though. I reach back to grasp his hand, wet with my nervous sweat.  
“Doth not w'rry, mine own love; I trust thee.”

He eases in and out and it begins to grow pleasurable as the crown of his length brushes against my prostate.  
“Oh, _Tybalt_ , yes...” I breathe as he reaches around my hip to curl his hand around my own erection.  
“L’rd, _Raphael_...” The alcohol makes his speech slightly stunted and his restraint fuzzy. “I cannot last...” After a few more thrusts, he spends, his come filling me to the brim as my orgasm rushes over me, my insides tightening around him, milking him. It is hot. Burning, searing hot as it fills me. I spill into his hand, hot and heavy, as he slakes his tongue against my spine.

When he pulls out, I collapse on the bed, exhausted. Tybalt moves to put his clothes back on but I am too tired to move.  
“Come, Raphael.” He states, buttoning up his waistcoat and I whine, breathily.  
“I already did, Tybalt...” I whine and he chokes back a chuckle.  
“Nay, back down to the party.” He tries again but I am already asleep. He pulls the duvet over my exhausted body and takes a sweet glance at me before heading back down.


End file.
